


odium, in revelation

by symphorophilia (klismaphilia)



Series: Xenotranspeciation [1]
Category: Alien (1979), Alien Series, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alien Cult, Alien Mythology/Religion, Alien Sex, Alternate Canon, Birthing, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Body Modification, Breeding, Cannibalism, Captivity, Come Inflation, Cult worship, Hallucinations, Hive Mind, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insanity, Mental Instability, Mpreg, Other, Oviposition, Tentacles, Transformation, Weird Biology, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/symphorophilia
Summary: The Xenomorph did not have the ability to find a Queen within the atmosphere of Quesh, and so it took one, reformed the strongest mind that it had found into a mate, a warm sheath for its brood.





	1. Phase One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cracktheglasses (cormallen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/gifts).



> Written for the hard kinks/kinkmeme prompt: "Hux gets fucked by the alien from Alien. No death please - either they both want it or Hux finds a way to make it happen safely."
> 
> I literally regret nothing. I've wanted a fic of this for too long.

_General,_

_I am writing to you on behalf of the Order’s Research Division under subsect X-0251, which states that a mandatory report is to be made if anything unnatural is observed with subjects of unknown origin. As you know, the Order laboratory on Quesh recently came into contact with one of these beings of unknown origin. While little information is known about said creature, our team is under specific order from Supreme Leader Snoke to file a report to you upon recording of unusual alien activity._

_It is of my opinion that this creature presents as a biological anomaly of the sort unseen since the days of the Old Republic. Please advise on proceedings in dealing with the being when you arrive on base._

**_..._ **

 

Hux had been well aware of the rumors circulating throughout the Order’s Primary Research Division for quite some time now-- rumors of extremely unnatural seismic activity that had previously been unheard of until expeditions to the surface of the toxic planet Quesh. The atmosphere of the planet was abnormally dense, and the surface had been left undisturbed for a number of years after the most recent outbreak of toxicity had sparked chaos within an Imperial team studying the planet’s poisonous flora. For lack of a better term, it was abandoned-- a wasteland made purely for the refuse of other organisms.

Which had Hux in quite an upbeat mood, if he were to be entirely honest. Having heard about the former mining operations held beneath the vitreous surface, he’d gathered a sense of subtly arousing mystere when his officer mentioned the abrupt disappearance of surface life forms. While he’d heard about Research Team 7, he’d never been provided a real chance to press the matter. Honestly, the concerns of troopers working planetside on a precarious mining world seemed rather fruitless, in light of the Rebellion attack and the state of the Order's current military affairs.

As such, Hux was possibly more excited than he had been in a long while. Though xeno-based anatomy was hardly a...  _desirable part_  of his research as a cadet, the subject held a _particular_ interest to the General which he had never fully shook. At the emergence of trooper OT-5373's letter, containing data files over a creature which the PRD referred to sparingly as “the Xenomorph,” his mind had been privy to once more latching onto this invested train of thought that Hux had long since tried to abandon.

The plan, at least for Armitage, was always meant to be one of voyeurism. Less dangerous that way; if he found a specimen, it was in his best interest that he watch from afar and remain as hands-off in his method of observation as possible.

But one thing Hux had clearly neglected to consider was how peculiarly _diligent_ aliens could be, more so how pfaasking _intelligent_ they were. For mindless creatures whose only motivation seemed to spurn from breeding and gnawing on the dead flesh of their enemies, their intellect appeared to be on par with human capability, if not _beyond._ When confronted with the holodepiction of the Xenomorph’s probing, swollen ovipositor, the quasi-wormlike form of their young, Hux had taken the species for any other carnivorous monster, unable to control their own primitive instinct.

The key word being 'had'. That _had_ been his opinion, until the Xenomorph had escaped.

If a typical xenomorph was smart, this one might be a borderline savant, a ruler amongst its own kind. Not only did the thing prove itself capable of working open a metal hatch, but it had been rather eager to let its victims screech in terror without reprieve as a means of attracting more prey through the manipulation of human attachment. Armitage had observed it (it… him?) more often than he likely should have; he was drawn to it, mesmerized by the sight of an elongated, smooth cranium, long and sharp with flatness as its pitch carapace began to gloss over in the manner that a Queen’s might.

Unfortunate for the rest of the Research team that they had been incapable of understanding the creature’s motives: he’d been adapting, testing his footing in a new environment so to better adapt to a prime role amongst his kind. Armitage had only heard of a Xenomorph Alpha as a rough biological theory based on species evolution. Many researchers had theorized that a Xenomorph’s recognition was dependent on the knowledge and study of other species, allowing one to adapt biologically to a level too difficult to be attained within an isolated environment.

The appearance of the researchers, mostly human and non-native to the Xenomorph race, would have shotgunned this progression, he concluded. And as their population had begun to dwindle, mainly in paramount to the Xenomorph’s unsated hunger, the creature had gained strength, presence and _greed;_ it carried with it a need to bury itself inside another willing host, a need to further its race yet again.

When Hux finally managed to alert the Order of their predicament, he’d been reduced to the sole survivor of the chaos: the only one left to fulfill the Xenomorph's needs.

The Xenomorph was a beautiful thing, in the most illuminating, fascinating way; his vertebrate-like body and protective exoskeleton appearing as some sort of armor, an Alien knight of ancient times. He had a long, stunningly flexible tail and his eyes were near to his mouth, narrow and near invisible. Yet what had caught the General’s attention most was the Xenomorph’s gaping, razor-toothed maw-- and the pitch of its massive body.

He’d ran, at first, keeping an arm at level with his own head, wrapped around the side of his skull in case there was a face-hugging larvae poised somewhere nearby. But this Xenomorph, this _dominant presence,_ had appeared unconcerned with his upper body, flinging itself forward and clamping onto Hux's legs in an undignified and terrifying way. He’d seized up, quivering with a sharp, sudden staccato of breath as he felt the thing’s tail clamping around his stick-thin waist, encircling his hips in a fluid movement that was not dissimilar to the manner in which it had devoured his companions. The Xenomorph’s spindly appendages tightened against his legs, taking hold of the limbs and prying them apart unceremoniously, tearing at the remains of Hux’s uniform, his mangled jodhpurs and rumpled briefs.

Armitage had been stiff, his body rigid with a perverse excitement as the thing began to probe him, its ovipositor searching out his hole, all the while dribbling something viscous and wet across the inside of his pale thighs. He’d scrabbled with the creature, clawing at limbs and head and tail as he attempted to throw it off of him, yet all it seemed to do was tighten its hold against his body, further and further until Hux was certain his ribs would crack with the strain.

The Xenomorph, apparently devout in its thorough examination, then pressed itself up between his trembling legs, anchoring blood-streaked thighs in place while its outer shell, much like the face-hugger’s, began to pry him open. It delved between his cheeks, slithering and pressing and _leaking_ something foul, something Hux should hardly have found so arousing, but he hadn’t protested when it wriggled itself against his warm, clenching hole and thrust in.

No, he’d merely _screamed._ Screamed, as it thrust upward into him, stuffing him so full of this thick, abnormal alien appendage that he squirmed at the hit against the inside of his stomach, the sudden, deft movement causing a protrusion from within his body when the Xenomorph sunk to the hilt. His hole pulsed, quivering at the stretch and eager to become a clutch for this depraved _thing--_ a thing, too intelligent and too renown to merely cast aside.

Somehow, Armitage felt _honored._

He couldn’t have said how long it was that he lay there after the Xenomorph had placed him into this unusual, half-formed metal room, his ass throbbing and wet, slime oozing from the sacred place between his cheeks, too defiled to feel natural. Occasionally the being would feed him, something half-warm and yet enough to sate him when he squirmed, his wrists aching from suspension within black resin for hours, at least. Everything passed so slowly, so _endlessly_ without communication, without--

Eventually, Armitage had lost track of time.

He’d grown accustomed to waiting for the Xenomorph to return, for _his_ Alien did make such wonderful noises, such wonderful movements, and he was always inclined to _cry_ upon its arrival, simply from knowing how well the monster could treat him, how he would allow Hux to live without fear of being harmed, without stress from derision or fear from failure...

Once, the Xenomorph had slid into him without preparation, his body so lax and pliant to the whims of his beloved that it was allowed without question to prod and lick at Armitage’s warm body, often trying his hole with the swell of its tail or bulbous jaw. He’d been slow this time, in opening up the former General, in undoing him to the point where Hux was keening, bent and begging for that pleasant ache of fullness deep inside. His being was a vessel for the Xenomorph, wanting the creature as much as he’d wanted anything.

And that was when the first egg came, a lump, thick and sacrilegious as it was deposited deep inside his hole. Hux threw himself on the ground, squirmed and jolted as if stung by an electric baton, the inevitablity of this phenomena no longer just a faint thought in the back of his mind. Armitage felt, as though he were trapped in a lucid dream, the Xenomorph’s sac rippling as its ovipositor pulsed and slid deeper, prodding at the internal skin of his taut abdomen, not yet stretched enough prior to this conception.

His belly was hot, full with fluid as his hole seeped with the Alien’s seed. Another lump came, pulsating and spreading his muscles as wide as they’d ever been, solid and capacious and _eager to breed._

Hux had cried-- _cried, fully,_ everywhere between _yes_ and _no_ and _I’m yours, I’m yours!_ as he’d struggled to free himself of his bondage, thrashing about while his hole was made to gape wider and wider, near enough to tear in two. He could feel something press against his prostate, hard-shelled, and the General convulsed when the Xenomorph parted his ginger hair with its tongue and pressed more of its heavy eggs into his body. He could see the protrusion of his belly, the slide of what was now practically a womb, his body a broodmother for whatever offspring the Xenomorph might produce--

And he’d been so high with it, so drunk on lust, that his vision had glossed over, dark and rife with his own lacking physicality, a need to sleep, to rest and save his strength for the offspring he might soon bear, the Alien’s brilliant clutch. They would have his mind, his mind _and_ the Xenomorph’s, and their young would rule the galaxy, tear down anything in their path--

Not for the first time, Armitage Hux wonders if he’s lost himself.

 

* * *

 

 

When General Hux returns to the Finalizer, he is not the man he once was.

The crew, of course, does not notice the rippling of his stretched abdomen beneath the robes he now dons, does not know of a slick onyx second-skin that has been pulled around his ribs, the hard outer texture of his body an armor he cannot put a name to. He disappears for a month out of every yearly cycle, a sudden occurrence that seems odd and misplaced to those who know him intimately, such as Captain Phasma and Kylo Ren. But even those around him are unaware of what he really is, what he is _a part_ of, this larger existence which they have yet to comprehend.

The Xenomorph did not have the ability to find a Queen within the atmosphere of Quesh, and so it took one, reformed the strongest mind that it had found into a mate, a warm sheath for its brood.

Their children will thrive. Hux will be Emperor and the Xenomorph will end any who oppose the creation of their hive, their civilization.


	2. Phase Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armitage Hux is a part of the Hive, and the Hive protects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck, bet you guys didn't expect to see THIS get updated! I had a lot on my mind about a second chapter for this, and, well... it sort of slipped out. Warnings for an explicit birthing/breeding scene, hive mind and weird alien shit, and extreme body horror.

The shifting had been unpleasant when it first began, a subjective irritant signaled with the pulsating of Hux’s once smooth, pale skin; prickling, twisting up into something macabre, embracing the innermost depths of his own revolting nature. It was, he considered, a sensation equatable to having one’s soul sucked out by innumerous parasites, a relationship meant to pull the host apart and spread their body through the Oblivion once they’d succumbed. Gnawing at the inside of his flesh, his body swelling and rapidly overflowing with the diluted blood of dark matter…

And yet, somehow… everything had changed.

Armitage  _ needed  _ this, craved the sensuality of his growth and deformity with such a fervent manner it refused to be pushed aside. There was no  _ ignoring  _ the Xenomorph, no ignoring the brood he’d been sown with, the  _ wondrous  _ capacity he now held for base procreation between incompatible lifeforms. And he didn’t mind it, being the Xenomorph’s mate, for the Xenomorph took to him so well, treated him as the Queen he was always meant to be. 

He sat, now, in his office, half slumped back on the chair before his own desk, hands warm and throbbing with the plague, an infinitesimal  _ pitch  _ set deep in Hux’s nerves, rendering him a lovely swarm of chaos. Crawling, squirming, deep inside, rooted in that secret place where nobody but his Alien was allowed to have him. An elongated, regal cranium, barbed roots crowning inside his swollen abdomen, the corrupted skin swathed with pure, white bandages… a strength,  _ so many divine creatures,  _ borne from the most unsanctimonious of unions.

Their brood would be magnificent.

When Snoke’s impuissant reign is concluded, once the Rebellion is debased and sent tumbling to their knees, the Xenomorph will come for him. His Alien shall join him,  _ Armitage Hux, Emperor,  _ covet him and secure his seat on the throne of Empire and Republic alike. This grotesque monster of legend, the beast which devoured human flesh in bulk, split grown men down the middle until their guts had pooled around him, debased the nature of a Sycophant with his perversion… is  _ his.  _

Hux palms his heaving abdomen, his fingers soft-edged and smooth when he dares to imagine his Mate. 

_ Power cannot provide me this. _

_ Morality is a deception. _

_ This Empire is a lie, a farce created from ruin… and we shall save it. _

_ We  _ shall. 

For the Queen would sit on the throne, and his hive would consume his enemies. The Xenomorph would allow him to bathe in fresh blood, would clean his injuries as he cleans Armitage’s pleasure, always around him, always  _ inside  _ him. 

The present is inconsequential. 

All Hux cares for is a future beside his Beloved, his maker.

 

* * *

 

 

For a week out of every three month cycle, Hux takes it upon himself to commandeer a shuttle to Quesh. he knows that the ringing in his ears is a signal meant to overwhelm, to pull in and  _ threaten,  _ and yet he cannot feel anything but apathy. The Xenomorph knows his mate is loyal, as he always should; too many times have they feasted together, too many times have they sang to each other from worlds apart.

While Hux finds an animosity in the rippling static of the Xenomorph's call, he refutes it easily-- his own body is reluctant to admit that it is in need. He denies himself his mate’s presence until three months pass, and it drives him past the point of ruin, until clarity has faded from his mind and all that remains is the mechanized thudding of the organ hidden deep in his chest. 

His heart, while rumored to be a cold, dead thing, continues to pump the black blood of horror through Armitage’s veins, bringing with it a promise of  _ vitality,  _ a power gifted to him for his induction into the Hive.

The Hive is his one and only, his Love, presenting him with everlasting solidarity and companionship. It nestles deep within, spreads out into his limbs and down his chest, warming him on the coldest of days and  _ comforting.  _ The Hive takes as much as it gives, and yet it gives  _ so much  _ that Hux would be broken without it.

His Xenomorph is an ancient thing, and it holds the penultimate understanding which mere humans cannot comprehend; Hux is  _ awed  _ by him,  _ pleased  _ that the Xenomorph has allowed him to carry its brood, that he was deemed worthy of the Hive’s gift, the title of Queen.

And if he is Queen, he is also Mother, the most esteemed title of all.

His first birthing had been an arduous and difficult procedure, but the Xenomorph held him open with strange, probing appendages, black and slick and dripping fluid all along his skin. It would mark his neck with razor-teeth, sunk deep through his brittle flesh, holding him still inside a faux-exoskeleton cocoon to warm his body. Hux had sagged, limp and pliant in the grip of his mate, his clutch spread wide and bared, black flickering before his eyes and drawing him toward the edge. 

All thoughts had left his inane mind when his stomach began to convulse, a wave of pain surging down from somewhere deep in his core, spreading Hux apart and tearing him in two. The movement inside elevated, pressing and jolting as the small bulges rippled across his extended belly, desperate to burst free into the world, to greet their Mother. 

Hux had lain there, stretched out on the ground with his legs spread wide and tethered, knees bent up as his back arched, mouth falling open in a scream of agony. Panting, writhing, scratching at the ground, ripping nails from his fingers as his hips slammed  _ up-back-and-back up and up-back and down. _ His Pureness, the entrance of his body, began to bulge, to grip tight to their brood in the manner of a vice, wiggling appendages slithering out around the center of his being, pushing and prodding and--

_ Bursting. _

Violent and crude, loosening his hole to accommodate the Awakening as Hux panted and gasped for breath. The Xenomorph’s tongue was on his chest, teasing over the hollow of his throat, laving his nipples with attention as Hux screamed for it,  _ pleading, begging. _

Eternity passed with the slithering exit of his brood, the neonate xenomorphs, soft and fleshy, green-yellow, oozing across his sticky-slick skin. The Xenomorph laid itself atop Hux, marked him slow once they’d all come, the ovipositor heavy and swollen underneath it while it watched him. 

_ Mother,  _ they hissed.

_ Queen,  _ the Xenomorph cooed.

He slid his swell back inside, and Armitage gasped, his hole rippling through the uncertain pleasure and remaining  _ ache  _ of the afterbirth, yet his Mate did not stop. He clambered atop the former General, the long talons of a guiding hand forcing Hux’s  _ pretty-soft-supple _ mouth open wide. The first mouth curled back when his huge teeth parted, and he shot forward a second mouth, his inner, to  _ thrust  _ down Armitage’s throat, push sweet nectar through him as the Queen jolted through each twitch of his sore muscles. It was like being impaled on a spit, so wide and so well-used that Hux is outside himself; the Xenomorph twists inside his brain as he does Hux’s body, insistent and relentless.

_ Beautiful,  _ it tells him.  _ Armitage. Queen. Mother. Keeper of Brood.  _

_ The Hive will take care. _

_ The Hive will free. _

_ The Hive will have, will mend and break and breed, will contort and save and keep. Promise eternity, promise womb. Clutch, tight, hot, welcoming. Beautiful, radiant, the Hive knows. Ours, one, remaining. Together.  _

_ Armitage. Queen. _

Hux understood, then, as he does now. He knew all, saw all, the Hive his lover, his friend, his enemy, his parent, his destiny. The Xenomorph would take him roughly, and yet it would remain gentle, it would love and use for itself as it made him Pure again. He was only Divine when the Xenomorph was nestled inside, when he was full and heavy with the result of their coupling,  _ his children, his Neonates,  _ leaving his body alive with sensation and yearning.

The Hive senses his closeness today, when it deigns to summon him for their new coupling, longing for the clutch his Xenomorph cannot do without. Their children question,  _ Mother? Mother?  _ and Hux swells in anticipation, knowing their Awakening will be sealed once and for all. 

 

* * *

 

 

In the midst of the galaxy, there lies a heart, connected by an interwoven web of brittle thread that even the Force does not see. When Armitage lies awake on the Finalizer, he can feel it spark, can feel it  _ ripple  _ in time with his own breath, awaiting the reign of the Hive. The others have no basis for understanding, and though they try, they show nothing but ignorance.

Kylo Ren sees the irreverence in the General, sees the black of his insides, the presence which swarms him like a cloud of hissing, spitting dots about his head. He thinks of Hux and he feels  _ Armitage,  _ the air around him a putrefactive corruption, the white drained from his eyes until all that remains is black. He sees, and he feels  _ unnerved,  _ that the man he had once undermined could be so abhorrent, seeping the tones of lust, malice and contamination wherever he goes.

Captain Phasma watches, as well, and she sees the humanity leave Armitage’s eyes, notices as his posture becomes more frigid than before, the strange smiles that play on his face while he speaks or gives command. She sees and she  _ fears,  _ knowing the growth inside him will one day overwhelm them all.

The Resistance knows, when they see, and they  _ crumble,  _ torn to bloody bits and charred, scrambled piles of flesh and bone, the bags of organs and air that were once sentients now a supply of food for the Hive. The traitor hates, and yet he flees, while the scavenger falters before the darkness that accompanies their Consciousness and questions them  _ why?  _

“What are you?” Luke Skywalker asks, when faced with Hux across a dull metal table, the shackles which bind him completely, the flickering insanity within him.

“We are figure, mind and spirit, and We determine all. We will seek and We will devour for We know the truth of the Galaxy.”

And then Armitage tilts his head, tilts it as he leans in toward Luke, still plastered over with that unnerving psychosis, the static pulses which threaten to seep out from every orifice, paint over white walls and metal tables with the root of their venom, the corruption of the Hive. Hux's eyelashes half-flutter, cryptic. He gazes to the man before him, seeing but not watching, hearing but content to dismiss.

“My Mate has promised me an Empire and I will have it. He has taught me to see, Skywalker, and now you will fall. Your rebellion is of no importance to my children, the clever ones, and they will not rest until they have feasted on your bones. When my new brood comes, you will regret keeping me locked in this cell like some worthless slattern.”

Armitage shivers in delight, shivers as he feels his Mate  _ drinking  _ in his words, taking them and steadying him, its mouth in his, kissing with the forcefulness of all things Damned. The Hive buzzes comfortingly, and then fizzles out-- his Xenomorph speaks to him, calmly, coolly, a phantom presence that settles his roiling venom.

_ Armitage, beloved. _

_ We will come. We will come to the Others, we will devour, we will feed. We will take care of Queen until he is Queen of all. We know, we seek. We covet. Queen, Armitage, lovely-- radiant, perfect, immortal.  _

_ Hive. _

And with the dying whispers of his family’s message, Hux settles, allowing the pilot and the traitor to raise him from his chair, their hands scorching his chained personnage. He imagines the Xenomorph beside him, sees their throne.

“You undermine my children,” he tells them. “They will raze planets far more than I to please their Mother.”


	3. Phase Three: The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His hands shake, nails scrabbling over the surface of his molting flesh, tearing the dying skin from the vestige of what had once been a human frame, utterly weak and disappointing. 
> 
> Or: Armitage Hux begins his transformation from human to Empress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has left such lovely comments on this work. this should be the last chapter of OIR, though I am planning a sequel in the future.
> 
> I have a moodboard for this fic (along with a snippet of this chapter) [here on tumblr!](http://symphorophilian.tumblr.com/post/160855849534/symphorophilian-e-g-r-e-g-i-o-u-s-armitage-hux)

Hux felt almost compulsively venerated.

It was a strange thing, he supposed, to think himself praised and _exalted_ when sat in the back of a Republic prisoner transport, his ankles and hands chained together in front of his body, stripped of his uniform and outfitted with a dirty grey set of prisoner’s scrubs. Nonetheless, there was something jovial building, deep in his center, thudding just as the beat of his heart, which rang in his ears to the point of becoming overwhelming.

He pulls his hands across the slight curve of his stomach, skin shifting and _dancing_ beneath the feeble, vein-covered flesh of his hands. Prone to tearing, he thought, with an amused grimace, the torn skin of his wrist beading with blood that dripped down over the metal bonds, sliding in rivulets down his frozen arm.

“What has you in such a good mood?” The man across from him asks.

Hux’s face twitches with the implication. He supposes that he _is_ in a good mood, if the sparking from within his bloodstream, the dancing of a molted form on the backs of his eyelids is anything of worth. He raises a hand, slightly, the black ichor of his tainted blood dripping onto the floor before him.

_Divine._

“I suppose I’m pleased to be alive, all things considered.” His teeth click as he shifts his jaw, a pleased squirming erupting from within his gut as he leans forward, his fully-black eyes distorted with something disconcertingly _void._ “I do feel rather excellent, now that you mention it. Call it a lesson of xenotranspeciation.”

The annoyed squirm of the brood in his gut makes its way forth, climbing through the body of its Mother, sliding into the empty space that lines the inside of Hux’s ribcage. It claws at his sternum, insistent, demanding to break free.

Hux finds that the feeling is nowhere near as repugnant as it should be. The other stirs, still in his gut, and he smoothes a hand underneath the hem of his shirt, over his torn-at skin, the only comforting embrace he’s ever been capable of giving.

The man before him laughs, running a hand through his wavy, dark hair, outfitted with a smirk that hardly meets his eyes. Hux is all too aware of who exactly the man is-- Poe Dameron, hero of the Resistance, or at least one of them. He wears a ring on his right hand now, fourth finger-- it’s somehow sentimental, Hux concedes, as someone who will never be able to wear a ring himself.

No, his Xenomorph would have given him a crown, golden lines and inlaid with some sort of ghastly jewel to be fitted around the sides. Beautiful and magnanimous and _exalting._

“Yeah, well I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Poe tilts his head to the side, arms crossed. “Nothing personal, of course, but I’d rather not be missing my own celebration to cart a homicidal maniac off to Belsavis.”

Hux’s own smile is nothing kind. “No offense taken, Commander.”

His brood stills from where it’s clawed a small hole through the thin skin of Hux’s paper-white chest, its little claw poking through only for a second. Hux laughs; the front of his clothing is becoming rapidly soaked with his poisonous blood, the little chestburster inside him desperate to hatch.

“That’s why they sent me, you know,” Dameron gestures to the Hux’s ungainly appearance, the tiny scabs crusting his arms, the violent twitch of his fully-black eyes as he turns his head to glare at the man once more. A stray lock of red hair falls over one of Hux’s eyes, irritating as the week-old stubble lining his jaw and the space around his mouth. He supposes he looks enough the same as he once did, only more ghastly, more…

_Alien._

“To what? Neutralize me if I became a problem?” The former-General turned his head to the side, licking his lips.

“To take care of those things in your chest,” Dameron answers, before jerking his head toward the door. “And that _thing_ of yours, should it decide to come back.”

“You would _kill_ my mate?”

“Why not? You almost killed mine.”

Poe hardly has the time to stand, signaling to the transport driver in the back of the vehicle as he glances toward the bright lights and electrified fences of the prison block outside. “Looks like we’re here. You better try and get comfortable while you still--”

_void void void void_

_mate mymatemy broodiscrying broodisscreaming_  


_dontbescared -Armitage- precioushost preciousQueen_

Static overwhelms his vision as a desperate, agonized cry erupts from Hux’s own chest, just like the sudden fray of flayed skin and snapped bones dissolving into the mess of his organs. Their first brood bursts from him, a snapping set of teeth and wild tentacle-like arms stretched wide as it scuttles to the side of the transport, emitting distressed pleas.

And then something snaps.

An indent appears in the hard metal as the transport vehicle is thrown back; Hux’s body protests under the strain. He moans uselessly, wishing his hands free of their restraint, wishing his being anything more than a _useless vessel--_

 **** **** **_beautifulArmitage, myhost soreceptivesopowerful bleedingispower_ **

**_bleedingisMINE_ **

The movement is so sudden that is can hardly be followed when a black, spindly whip of a thing snakes in through the wall and seizes the deranged criminal about the waist, pulling him free. Poe’s hand flies to his blaster; he is only briefly able to make out the shape of a sleek carapace and rows of carnivorous jaws outside the space of the door before the thing is gone, Hux tugged free along with it.

Black blood slides across the twisted metal of Hux’s broken cuffs, discarded on the ground where he’d once laid before. Poe reaches for his comm; the driver mumbles something from the front that is scarcely audible with the onslaught of sounds outside.

 _“General,”_ Poe hisses. _“It’s still alive-- it… it came back.”_

 _“Status,”_ Leia answers. _“Commander. Are you alright?”_

 _“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. It took Hux, just like you thought-- too damn fast, I could hardly see it.”_ A cough, deep and throaty as his head spun, uncertain. _“Where do you think it’s going?”_

Broken, empty crackles sounded from the comm, a soft, unnatural buzzing overwhelming the channel. Leia’s voice cut out, a sharp cry shattering the system before a single, dreaded word replied:

**_“--home.”_ **

 

* * *

 

 

_It was the product of some unspeakable experiment. Regal, intelligent; a creature like no other, seeping loose the blood of enemies over the five glistening tips sat upon its head like a crown. Bristling, razor-edged spines laid flat along its back, sharp enough to rival the edge of a sword, its whip-like tail flicking about behind its back, drawn up to show an obsidian appendage of distorted blades. Something clicks; the Alien hums a hissing, emphatic chortle as it turns its head, watching Hux without eyes. Still, he can understand it-- discerning, evaluating… judging him._

_He stills; the creature rears up for a moment, high on its back legs as a puncture-riddled body slides limp from the end of its tail. Blood drips through each nook between the creature’s bones, falling still-slick into each divot of the rock beneath._

**_Mine,_ ** _it speaks, a hollow screech reverberating from within the walls of Armitage’s own mind, causing his knees to tremble and his back to stiffen in a display of weakness unbefitting of him. The thing watches, eyeless face glittering with the starlight of a billion conquered galaxies; if Hux didn’t know better, he might even think it to be smiling._

 **_Empress,_ ** _the Xenomorph stalks closer, wicked appendages seizing about his waist and tugging him in close as it slides across his skin, merging into him with the power of combusted worlds and vibrant, bloody corpses kept inside it. Armitage wonders if the thing means to devour him, and yet…_

_He knows that the Xenomorph wishes him no harm. No, not when it kneads at the curved flesh of his belly with claw-like hands, not when it nuzzles into his neck, mouth open to expose a gaping maw sporting carnivorous teeth, perfect for grinding bone between the clutches of its jaw._

_When the Alien trails a slimy, weeping ovipositor across the curve of Armitage’s spine, demanding his submission, he quivers with uncertainty. His back bows in an even bend, eyes welling with abrupt rivulets of utter desperation-- he feels alone. So impossibly_ **_alone,_ ** _and so suddenly, as though nothing else in the universe will understand him, as though he will die without the presence of this creature, this gorgeous, megalomaniacal beast._

 **_Please come to me!_ ** _Armitage cries, gripping at the Xenomorph’s cutting frame, feeling his skin split apart as he slips hands around the tail guarding his waist, the hand dipping underneath the waist of his uniform to seize hold of his hardened cock, teasing the soft flutter of his thighs when he shifts._

 **_preciousthing precioushost,_ ** _the Xenomorph speaks,_ **_youarealways OURS intheshadows passingorder givingPAIN_ **

**_nefariousmind OURhost belongtothehive_ **

_Armitage clicks involuntarily, a sound swollen in his chest,_ bursting _from his throat in an amalgam of need. His blood bubbles black across the top of his hands, the Alien’s own acidic tang spewing over his back, biting at his exposed human flesh and easing into the skeleton beneath it._

**_youwillbecome STRONG_ **

**_youwillbecome Queen_ **

_And the reassurance calms him, keeps him steady and certain when the Xenomorph pries apart the crevasse of his ass, exposing his entrance, bright and red and leaking with a pitch mucus meant to ease their coupling. He whines, legs lifted from the ground and flailing as the Xenomorph turns him, its inner mouth biting at his throat, down his side, drawing little patches of distorted mutilation onto the canvas of his impuissant figure._

**_sweethost dearhost letmein letmeHAVEyou_ **

 

* * *

 

 

 **_\------_ ** He wakes.

Laying on his side on the floor of an innocuous storeroom, both hands clutching to the front of his white undershirt, soaked with sweat and a gelatinous fluid that dribbles out of Hux’s open mouth, peaks around the swollen texture of his nipples as the General pulls himself upward, enough to sit half on his knees, gazing distantly through the wall.

 _I would,_ Hux acknowledges, _I would let you have all of me…!_

His hands shake, nails scrabbling over the surface of his molting flesh, tearing the dying skin from the vestige of what had once been a human frame, utterly weak and disappointing.

He feels unnaturally hungry… voracious, _insatiable_ . As though he will _die_ without anything to consume, as though his singing veins will scream, mourning the emptiness of his body and the hollow shell within his abdomen.

Dizzy, Hux manages to crawl toward the cracked door, sensing the spark of destroyed equipment just past his reach; his hands claw at the cool metal, prying it open, urgent even if disturbed by a sensation he cannot describe.

And there, waiting on the other side, is something _divine._

Truly amazing, a metallic egg pulsating with energy, the green veins along the side vibrating with the thrum of the hive. Their _first,_ lovely Ovimorph, so small yet so formidable, just waiting to hatch…

He reaches for it, clutches the egg to his chest, swaddling it in the fabric of his greatcoat. Armitage Hux knows nothing of raising a child, but his mind is humming with the pleasant reach of the hive, encouraging more of this apparent maternal instinct.

With an ache in his feet and a clawing beneath the thin, outer layer of his molt, he walks forward, unsteady, back hunched and the single, surviving egg clutched protectively to his body. Smuggled from what remained of the Xenomorph’s safehaven on Belsavis, long after a raid undertaken by the Knights of Ren, after his failed capture by the Resistance. It was all symbolic of an atrocity, one that Hux could not dismiss from the recess of his brain. _Slaughter,_ he thinks, _the slaughter of innocents, you murderous wretch! The slaughter of_ mine, _my brood, my hive._

This last, magnificent, malevolent facehugger of his is soon to hatch, soon to decimate and control just as its Queen had taught it, just as the DNA which runs through its little cords has dictated. Biology is a science unrivaled-- Hux is ashamed of just how much he’s forgotten.

“Shh,” he eases the unhatched spawn, kissing the egg with a sanguine smile. “You’ll hatch soon, dear one. And then you’re to get me pregnant once more. The Hive needs to rise again, you see... its what Ours and Mine would have wanted.”

The sweet incense of a dense fog clouds the space before him; Hux stops, his arm braced protectively around his little treasure, rigid with fear. His breath spikes, the tiny spines across his back standing up in preparation to attack.

“Easy,” a voice echoing from beneath the shield of a buzzing vocoder sounds, the form in the distance sheathed in rumpled black, a long, buzzing red blade at his side. “You look unwell, General. Relax.”

 _“No,”_ Hux snaps, his bloodshot eyes wild with delirium, shaking in the sudden restraint that has seized his body in full. _“You-- it was you, you destroyed Mine, you destroyed everything--”_

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Ren answers. _Impudent._ Revolting. “You’re _sick,_ General Hux. Snoke has demanded you return to the Citadel until you recover from this…” he pauses, as though swallowing. _“Illness.”_

Armitage shudders as Ren moves closer, recoiling when those arms steady themselves around his waist, pry the empty cloth out of his twitching hands. “There. That’s it, Hux. _Very good.”_

“Ren-” Armitage says, embarrassed at how his voice breaks, his arm searching for a hold against Ren’s shoulders, glancing over the Knight’s menacing figure wide-eyed and a hand placed over his mouth to muffle a broken sob. “Ren…” he utters again, cobweb lashes fluttering as rage settles inside his belly. _“What have you done?”_

Kylo peels away the last strands of resin clinging to Hux’s pallid arms, attempting to restrain the feelings of hatred pushing at the forefront of Hux’s conscious. “We need to get you back to the ship, General. Your troops are waiting.”

“Yes…” Hux exhales. “Yes, I remember now… the Finalizer. We need to recoup… we lost resources on Ilum. Wasn’t that it?”

The Knight’s breath comes in shallow torrents; he does not speak. Hux’s ears fill with a brief pulse of static, a soothing wave of hissing and crackling as his tongue clicks within his warm mouth.

He seizes, jerking within his own body, eyes rolling back into his head, his fingers clawing desperately as his throat while he gasps and tenses and flails. He barely has a chance to breathe before darkness is overwhelming him, flooding his senses with a deep, unending blackness that envelops his body and traps him in space.

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere, in the distance, he hears a scream.

In the night, he can feel the pressure of a warm, pulsing lifeform perched atop his face while he breathes, can place the sensation of a wicked tube slid deep in his windpipe as he convulses, shuddering through moment after moment of befuddled pleasure. There’s something unnatural, something _separate_ pushing breath into his lungs along with a cloudy haze of lust that causes Hux’s toes to curl and his legs to part from each other instinctively, delighted squeals breaking through the hold on his throat.

His vision dances with an image of godliness, something divine and resolute and _longing,_ cradling him and keeping him still as he remembers an Empire-- an Empire under _his_ rule, bathed in moonlight and kept alive with his own heart, the heart of the Hive, all their veins carrying the same venomous blood of an imperious loathing for the universe.

He is so pleased to be a part of the Hive.

He is so pleased to _belong,_ in a manner which he never has before.

Armitage slides his jagged hands to palm at his belly, smiling blearily into the distance. His claws pull at the membrane shielding the warmth of his implanted womb, the Xenomorph’s creation given to him like a blessing. A carrier of _true_ power, of _real_ aristocracy.

 **_youwillgiveus --Order--_ ** **_  
_****_  
_ ** ****_youwillgiveus --Empress--_

 _Yes,_ Armitage thinks, crying with the sudden happiness, _yes, yes, yes! I will, I’ll sit on a throne of skulls and deliver our brood into the galaxy! The Hive is my greatness, my purpose… we will gorge ourselves on flesh, feast on any sentient that dares defy us! Yes, my Xenomorph, my Mate, I--_

 _I am… I am so_ **_hungry._ **

He tosses, rolling onto his side as the tube disconnects from his throat, reaching up to drag the facehugger away from his skin by its tail, letting it claw at his scarred flesh, pressing the tip of his little finger to its mouth so it can suckle on it.

 _He lied to me!_ Armitage accuses, reminded of Ren and the ship he is set in; he fidgets as he notices his own nakedness, the wires shoved into the flesh of his ribcage, needles pinning his molt in place as he hisses. _They mean to experiment on me! They mean to kill me! Disobedient wretches, all of them-- to defy the truth of POWER--?!_

Without any hesitation, Armitage rips the pins from his skin, the seeping blood searing his flesh as it bubbles out from within his innards, leaving him a shuddering mess. The innocent facehugger still sat upon his hand is bristling too, feeling his apparent anger as its Mother rattles with loathing.

 _“Ren!”_ He screams, disgusted at the betrayal, at the _gall_ of the man who had done this to him. _“You can’t hide from Us, Ren!”_

The door bursts open and troopers hustle in, all clad in the same black and white suits, their blasters drawn and aimed at him.

 _“General Hux,”_ one vocalizes. _“Please. Settle down.”_

“You killed my brood,” he tells them. “You were _attacking_ my brood--” A tail whips out from behind him, spearing the first trooper through the chest, armor useless in providing a defense to his body. Armitage tosses the weak _thing_ to the ground, glaring at the others as he attempts to resume his own sense of dignity.

“I apologize for my display of anger.” He bites. “We desire a ship, warm blankets, and a container for that--” he gestures to the body, “so Our brood can feed. Noncompliance will result in immediate termination. I don’t care what Kylo Ren may have told you; We are in control of this vessel, and have been since he brought Us on board. Cooperate and I will allow you lenience.”

His only surviving facehugger crawls up his arm to latch onto a soft spot of pure white flesh, nuzzling at him tenderly. Even the shadow of Kylo Ren standing in the hallway does little in deterring the creature’s sudden happiness.

“Ren,” Armitage acknowledges.

“Hux,” he responds, his maskless voice somehow melancholic. “It was not the Order’s intention to upset you--”

“I don’t care what your intention was,” he clicks. “Snoke is to be beheaded. You, perhaps, may live if I think you useful.” The Hive laughs and it bursts from Armitage’s throat like a cacophony of terrified voices. “It’s nice to have a warm partner from time to time, Ren, as I’m sure you know. Your infatuations of the past will earn you nothing within this _new_ Galaxy.”

 _“What_ ‘New galaxy?’” Kylo demands, seizing him by the arm.

“A galaxy that is defined by _Order,”_ he smiles. “Our hive extending past the reaches of the known universe and into legend. Multiple hives, working together to subdue any _deviants_ to Our legacy. Headed by a _seraphic_ Empress-- myself-- and a royal guard to help the Queens breed. Don’t tell Us that it doesn’t sound glorious.”

“It sounds…” Ren can hardly answer. _“Powerful.”_

Hux has so longed for the fear stemming inside those deep, brown eyes, the terror which emanates from the stilled troopers, permeating the space around him. He feels, for the first time, _beloved,_ just as a true leader should be.

“If you submit to the Xenomorph,” Armitage tells them, “if you give yourself to the Hive… I promise, with all the Honor which my Mate demands… that you will be rewarded beyond measure.”


End file.
